By Bailey Hosfelt
Follow former culture editor and current abroad correspondent Bailey Hosfelt as she sets up home base in España and bops about Europe for the semester, looking to save a buck and learn a thing or two along the way.
BARCELONA, SPAIN—Transition is tough no matter how you slice it. Considering the fact that I’m no longer in the pizza capital of the world – looking at you, New York – and getting a taste for an entirely new country and continent combo, the shift has been something short of smooth sailing.
I’d like to start off on a forthright note and report that the first impression I made on Spain this September was not my finest. From thinking I skipped customs in El Prat Airport to realizing, pre-scramble, that I bought hard-boiled eggs opposed to regular ones, my mind and body were, like a kindergartner on the first day of school, dragging their heels in fear of the unfamiliarity that lay ahead.
They say change doesn’t happen overnight, but when you study abroad it sure feels like it does. On Aug. 31, I was in Boston, making small talk with the TSA agent whose accent was on par with the likes of Matt Damon and Ben Affleck in Good Will Hunting and savoring the sweet taste of Dunkin’ Donuts iced coffee before our bittersweet goodbye. The next day, I was in Barcelona, alone and dragging the hefty weight of a 70-pound suitcase with some emotional baggage to boot.
But after reorienting my sense of place, realizing it’s a marathon, not a sprint, and commiserating with a fellow Ram about how few of our credits will transfer, we’re finally on the upswing. And by we, I simply mean me. The walk from bed to fridge in my studio-style flat is comically short, and human interaction can be avoided unless sought out. So cut me some slack and allow me the unabashed-albeit-incorrect-use of the plural pronoun to slide just this once. I mean, a girl gets lonely!
You’re probably wondering what I’m doing here and why I’m writing about it, or maybe you aren’t at all. But I’m going to tell you anyway in hopes you will come crawling back to read my words, week after week. I’m studying journalism, film, a smidgen of international relations and both languages native to the beautiful city of Barcelona, until January at Blanquerna Universitat Ramon Llull.
URL, which is only three years my senior, dons the same maroon and white school colors as good ole Fordham and gets its name from a 13th century theologian, philosopher and missionary who helped pioneer written Catalan. Talk about a triple threat from the Middle Ages.
While the core values at Blanquerna are grounded in Christian humanism similar to Fordham’s cura personalis pathos, the respective cities the universities call home feel quite different.
Despite being a pulsing urban hub with culture at every turn, the pace in Barcelona is much slower than that of New York, and I dig it. As a resident fast walker whether in a rush or not, I am learning to appreciate this antithesis of urgency.
Getting the check at a restaurant can be a challenge, simply because the wait staff encourages patrons to stay well after their hot plate of paella is gone. One coffee can easily turn into a three-hour conversation with friends without feeling like you’re taking up prime real estate at the café and going to the beach doesn’t require schlepping yourself all the way to Coney Island.
After interning through MTA’s State of Emergency status and hoping the train wouldn’t decide to derail while taking me from point A to B, any form of public transportation would probably seem better. But let me tell you, Governor Cuomo should be looking to the Barcelona Metro because these guys have it down to a science. With 12 lines (three of which operate on an automatic, driverless system, short wait times and little-to-no stalling at stations, navigating Barcelona underground is a breeze.
My only complaint is that it doesn’t run 24 hours a day, but three months of unlimited ridership for only 105 euros fully makes up for it. Seriously MTA, take a hint.
I’m not quite sure where the wind will take me throughout the course of this semester, but with Catalonia itching for independence from Spain and budget airlines like Ryanair luring me in for any and all impulsive weekenders, it’s bound to get interesting.
I promise to eat all the tapas my stomach allows and do everything for the story. Because, as the Nora Ephron philosophy goes, everything is copy. And after all, this girl is en busca del buen viaje!
